The Sky is Falling
by Angeleyez
Summary: Doubt, guilt, fear. It’s all coming at once. (Season 5 Lit)
1. Prologue

**Title**: The Sky is Falling

**Author**: Angeleyez

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing, but my slowly dying laptop. The poor thing.

**Summary**: Doubt, guilt, fear. It's all coming at once. (Season 5 Literati)

**A/N**: So we're all on the same page: Rory's back from Europe, Lindsay threw Dean out, Yale is back in session.

-

**Prologue**

She now knew what it was like to fall apart. To remain stationary as pieces of herself crumbled, little cracks appearing where she used to be whole. It was a curious process, losing oneself; she never thought she would sit down one day and wait to disappear.

Her throat stung, full of belated apologies and overpowering tears. Her eyes were red and wet and wide, as she watched her own train wreck in the mirror that hung across from her bed. She thought tiny little thoughts: what if's and maybe's that gave her no comfort. Instead, each was like an injection of doubt and self-loathing, enough to carry her over for the rest of her life. Words surfaced in her head, terrible and honest. (Homewrecker. Slut. Failure.) She felt herself drifting.

A knock on her dorm door startled her from bed. She jumped up and ran a hand through her hair, wiped her eyes. She was having her own personal pity party – no one else was invited. She didn't want to see who was there. Dean? Her mother? Lindsay? Of all the possibilities, none of them were promising. There was no one she wanted to speak to.

It was all very sudden, the way it happened. She opened her door and her heart jumped. She heard another part of her crack, and hit the ground. She thought she had fallen asleep and he was a dream, and maybe if he wasn't real, she didn't have to be either.

"I can't stay away," he told her, standing in the doorway. "Can I come in?"

She was dumbfounded. She was angry, too; maybe even a little relieved. Confusion and pain over what he did to her was preferable to crying over what _she_ had done. She stepped aside and he walked in.

He followed her to the couch, and sat at the opposite end. He stared down at his hands, the slight shake that was just noticeable. When he turned toward her, he found her staring back. Right away, he noticed her eyes were red. Her hands were shaking too.

He knew what he wanted to say. He had gone over it again and again on his drive down here. But he didn't know where to start. More than likely, she would kick him out before he could finish; he wanted her to hear the most important parts first.

"What are you doing here?" she asked. Her voice was heavy, filled with something he couldn't identify.

"I wanted to talk to you."

"Where are you going to ask me this time? California? Canada? I hear Vermont is nice this time of year."

He closed his eyes, swallowing a retort. She wasn't going to make this easy.

"Don't ask, Jess." He was about to assure her that he had no intention of asking her to run with him, when she continued. "I might say yes this time."

He gripped the arm of the couch. He wanted so badly to know what she was thinking; he used to be able to read her with one look. Now, he no longer recognized her. "Rory, what happened?"

She gave him a curious look. "I don't see how that's any of your business."

"Point taken."

Another silence fell over them, as both looked away. His eyes swept across the room. Whoever her roommate was, she obviously hadn't moved in yet. Everywhere he looked he saw Rory; books, CDs, pictures; idiosyncratic decorations that screamed her name. He could smell her perfume from where he was sitting; it was a familiar vanilla scent.

"Are you going to tell me what it is you want to say?" she asked. "You just keep… popping up. You disappear, and then you come back with some new revelation to drop! Just spit it out, and make me cry, so you can leave. Please."

"I never wanted to make you cry," he told her quietly.

"Yeah, well, so far, your track record is terrible." The pressure in her throat was too much; it was difficult to speak properly. She had to resist the urge to bury her face in his leather jacket and let it out. She wondered how he would react to that. Would he push her away? Touch her hair? She could do it, she thought. All she needed was a little comfort.

"Rory," he began, not sure how to go on.

"What?"

"You're crying."

She squeezed her eyes shut, pretending for a moment that Jess wasn't there. She wished him away, back to the city, where he could keep his problems to himself. She was alone, buried neck deep in her mistakes and regrets. Maybe this was too much by herself. Maybe she could tell Jess. He would listen, at least.

"I did something stupid," she finally said.

"How stupid?"

"I messed everything up." She balled her hands in her lap, bit her lip. "I slept with Dean."

This time when the room fell quiet, she didn't notice, not with the dull roar in her ears. The noise was so deafening, she almost didn't hear Jess when he finally spoke.

"Isn't - " He cut himself off, shook his head. His knuckles were white against the arm of the sofa. "Isn't he married?"

She watched him carefully, feeling the words bubble up within in her. She was going to burst. "No," she said slowly. "No," she repeated, "you don't get to be mad about this." She could see it on his face: the disappointment and the anger. The disappointment was enough to hurt, but the anger? He was _mad_?

"You left _me_, Jess. We weren't together when it happened. We haven't been together for a _very_ long time, and what I decided to do was _my_ business, not yours."

Red and green dots swam in front of his eyes. The pain in his chest rose and spread. He wondered if cardiac arrest could be brought on by superficial wounds.

"If it's not my business, why did you tell me?" he finally managed to get out.

She wiped away a stray tear. "You're good with screwing up."

"Apparently, you're not as perfect as you make yourself out to be."

She flinched and stood, needing to get away from him. "I never claimed to be perfect. It was everyone else who decided that for me."

He stared at her from the couch. She was still pale, soft and delicate; the simple kind of beautiful. In his mind, he pictured Dean kissing her, Dean undressing her, his hands bigger over hers.

"When did this happen?" he asked, changing gears. He imagined it must have been recent for Rory to be so upset over it. He thought maybe a couple of days; a week.

"The weekend after you asked me to come with you," she confessed.

His eyes widened but that was all. There was no other outside evidence of the shock that overwhelmed him. She was using his desperate plea as a time reference to sleeping with Dean. The weekend after. It had been a matter of days.

"I guess I know why you said no now," Jess mumbled.

"Don't do that," she snapped. She fell into the arm chair behind her. "What happened between Dean and I wasn't planned. He showed up at my house the night the inn opened. It just… happened."

"How does something like that just happen?" he asked, his voice filled with accusation.

"I don't know, Jess. The night was slow and I thought, hey, why don't I break up a marriage tonight? I've got nothing else to do."

He turned in his seat to get a better look at her. "So he was married at the time?"

"Yes! I helped him cheat, I was the other woman. He showed up and we started talking and he said all these things about how he and Lindsay weren't working out and that it was over. He kissed me and my heart was beating really fast and I felt so sad and happy all at once." She was rambling now, letting off steam.

"I took off his ring," she mumbled to herself, "and he was smiling at me! I didn't ask any questions, I just accepted what he had to say. I ruined his marriage."

The light from the lamp had become too bright, like an interrogation spotlight over the both of them. Rory shifted in her seat, trying to sink further into the couch cushions. She hoped they would swallow her up. She wanted nothing more than to disappear.

"It's not like you're the sole reason the marriage fell apart," Jess said quietly, trying to be unbiased in this situation. He wanted to wrap his mind around this, _understand_ it, but he could only think: less than a week; a matter of days.

"What?" she asked. Her face was tearstained and confused. She had forgotten he was in the room.

"If he came to your house, it was because he wanted to. He knew what he was doing."

She didn't answer him. She couldn't. His words brought her little comfort, but the fact that he was the one to say them made all the difference. He had been angry moments before, subtly accusing her of terrible indiscretions. Now he was almost soft, trying to make her feel better.

"Jess, why are you here?"

He considered the question, compared what he expected to find to what was really here. "I don't know anymore."

"Are you back now? In Connecticut? Or are you just passing through?"

He shrugged as if he had driven down here undecided. "I was thinking about moving back."

"For me?" she asked. "What is it that you want?"

How did he answer this? There was so much that he wanted; so much he knew he would never have again. "I want us to be able to talk without yelling."

"Well, so far, so good." She picked at the fabric of the armchair, pulling on loose threads. "So you want to talk this out?"

"Yeah."

"Okay," she said, leaning toward him. "Talk."


	2. Chapter One

**A/N**: You know I love you. This immediately picks up at the end of episode 5.05 "We Got Us a Pippi Virgin!"

**Chapter One**

_"Like the old days."_

The feeling was back. It had been coming more frequently lately; little tremors of doubt that overwhelmed her. Sometimes it happened in the middle of a class, during a test; other times she was on her back with Dean hovering over her, his hands in her hair, and she would have to ask to him to stop because she was having trouble breathing.

Tonight, she had been in her car, on her way back to the dorm, leaving behind the disastrous foursome of a date, when it had seized her, like a terrible virus that had finally turned malignant. She had spoken to Dean through her open window, forced a smile, asked for a kiss, trying to remember all the reasons why she was there, right then, in that exact situation. Her mind came up blank.

The dorm was dark and quiet when she let herself in. Paris's door was closed indicating either a study session or that she was in bed. Either way, the meaning was clear: Do Not Disturb. It didn't matter anyway; Rory couldn't share something like this with her. Discussing Dean would transform into some interrogation; Paris was too inquisitive and she knew Dean had been married. She wouldn't stop until she had the whole story and Rory was in tears.

With a resigned sigh, Rory headed into her room, hoping a good night's sleep would clear her head. She changed into sweatpants and a T-shirt, but stopped short of crawling into bed. Her cell phone was sitting on her bureau where it had slipped out of her discarded purse. She stared at it, seriously considering making the call. Her fingers curled at her side, as she mentally counted off the seven digits of his number. He would be home. He would listen.

She jumped when her phone rang. She frowned at it, not comprehending. Who was that?

"Hello?"

"Hi, babe," her mother answered cheerfully on the other end. "I was trying to time my call so it came after you had gotten back, but before you had gotten into bed, all comfortable and unconscious. It left me with a very small window. How'd I do?"

Rory sat on her bed, settling against the pillows. "Pretty good. I'm in my pajamas, but I have yet to get under any blankets."

"Perfect!"

"Is there any reason for this call? I saw you an hour ago."

"Don't you miss me already?"

Rory rolled her eyes. "Of course."

"I heard that eye roll, young lady!" Lorelai scolded. "There actually is a point to this perfectly timed phone call. It's about Luke."

"Oh."

"Luke's afraid that Dean's going to steal all your gold coins."

Rory blinked. "Excuse me? Is that some kind of… metaphor? "

Lorelai began to pace the living room, determined to explain this correctly. "Luke doesn't think Dean is good enough for you. Apparently, no normal boy is."

"Am I going to grow up into an old spinster?"

"Most likely with cats," Lorelai added, "from the way Luke was going on. The words 'prince' and 'not waiting in line for his brother to die' were used."

Rory frowned, cast back into confusion. "Right."

"Apparently, the pedestal he has put you on is dangerously close to where I hold you." Lorelai smiled, remembering Luke's worry. He just wanted Rory to succeed, be happy. "He compared you to Pippi."

"As in Longstocking?"

"Yep."

"As in the movie we watched tonight."

"Yep."

"The girl with the pigtails? The one who walked up the brick building? Luke did know which one was Pippi, right?"

"Trust me," Lorelai said. "He knew. And he thinks you can build hot air balloons and lift horses over your head."

"Oh yeah," Rory agreed. "I took a class in that last week: _Quadruped Lifting and You_."

"He said you were strong and independent. He said the whole world was waiting for you."

Rory stared down at her knees, silent. A blush colored her cheeks as she digested what Luke had said. It was nice to have someone that knew her well love her by choice. To believe in her because he had no reason not to. It was different from having the support of the rest of the town; it was _Luke_.

"You have every right to be upset about the Dean thing, but try not to hold it against him. He just wants what's best for you."

"And that's not Dean," Rory mumbled, speaking more to herself than her mother.

"No, no that's not what he meant. Well, that is what he meant. He just – " Lorelai stopped and regrouped. Why did Dean have to be such a tricky subject? "Luke supports all the choices you make," she finally concluded.

_Like breaking up a marriage?_

"I'm glad," Rory said instead.

"I'll let you get to sleep now. I just wanted to clear this up before you went to bed."

"Consider it cleared."

"Night, babe."

"Night."

Rory hung up and dropped her phone onto the mattress. The discomfort was still there, only vaguer now, fading from the good her mother had told her. But Rory would be unable to sleep like this; this feeling always led to tossing and turning, and a myriad of what if's.

With a determined attitude, she grabbed her phone and called him. He would cure her of this melancholy dread and then she would be able to sleep peacefully and wake up refreshed tomorrow. Yes, he would fix this.

As an afterthought, she held the phone a good two feet away from her ear as it rang. A click was heard followed by the unmistakable blaring of an air horn.

"Now who are you trying to avoid?" she asked, ignoring the formalities of a 'hello'.

"A former roommate," Jess explained, diving right into the conversation. "He says I owe him rent. I stayed with him a total of two weeks, and paid him for a full month. I even made him sign a receipt."

"He has no case."

Jess shrugged. "I know. But the guy's a coke addict…"

"No need to go on," she interrupted. "No wonder he's looking for money." She paused, eyeing her alarm clock. "You know it's after twelve, right? Do you really think he'd be calling this late? Shouldn't he be clubbing or passed out in an alley by now?"

"Anyone who is calling after midnight is either someone who has nothing better to do with their time than harass me, or it's you. Which is basically the same thing."

"Hey!"

"Either way, the horn is needed. Then they'll never call again. Except for you, who knows what to expect."

She snuggled down beneath her blankets, and curled an arm around her pillow. "I think you should get a caller ID."

"Nah, this is cheaper. Simple, yet effective."

"Until the day you pop someone's eardrum and they sue you for hearing loss."

"And how do you think I'll avoid their lawyers' calls?" he asked.

She let out a resigned sigh. "Fine, you and your cruel caller ID win."

Ten miles away, he sat alone in his apartment, trying to suppress the smirk that refused to leave his face. It killed him that she still had this effect on him.

"So, is this phone call random or with a purpose?"

"Um." She swallowed, suddenly nervous. "With a purpose. I had my double date tonight."

He ignored the pinprick of jealousy and the even harsher pain of isolation. She had been out with Dean _and_ Luke. They had been some bumbling, sitcom foursome having a good time together. Jess had sat alone tonight, sprawled out on the couch with only Mistry's woeful tales of India to keep him company.

"How'd it go?"

"Well, Luke thinks I'm Pippi Longstocking. He also tried to kill Dean with a Bop It."

There was a pause. "A Bop It?"

"It was a two person Bop It."

"Oh yeah," Jess nodded. "Makes sense."

Rory laughed. "Everyone made it out unscathed. Well, physically. There may have been some emotional damage."

Jess grinned; a full blown smile. The mental image of Luke bashing Dean over the head with a plastic toy brought him too much joy. It made him want to phone his uncle; congratulate him while simultaneously chewing him out for doing to Dean what he never allowed Jess to. But the thought was lost as Rory continued.

"Jess?" She wanted to bring up how she felt; the problem that was nagging at her, but another issue surfaced first, the words jumping out of her mouth. "Does it bother you when I talk about my dates? I just… you never say anything about it. You always let me go on."

"Of course not. I thoroughly enjoy hearing the sordid details."

The sarcasm did not go unnoticed. She bit her lip, remembering guilt; the unique kind that accompanied only him. It was like a faint stirring sharp with thorns. "Does it bother you because it's Dean?" she asked softly. "Or does it bother you because it's me?"

Jess stifled a groan. Their friendship worked fine as long as they stayed clear of that line separating comfort from regretful, guilt-ridden pain. Why did she always insist on toeing it? She danced around it like it meant nothing; as if she could cross it and pull back in a blink of an eye without hurting either of them. It didn't work that way.

"Rory." He ran a hand through his hair, at a loss of what to say.

"I'm sorry." She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling like a fool. "I should go."

"You don't have to hang up. You just – "

She spoke suddenly, cutting him off mid-sentence. "I think I'm trying to recapture the past with Dean."

"What?"

"It's not working. I think it's making everything worse." She exhaled, letting out what she had been holding in. "And that's the reason I called tonight."

"To sort everything out."

"Yeah." Her voice was soft now, whispered uncertainty over the phone. "But I think I should go to bed instead."

"You don't…" He leaned forward, resting his head in his hand. This hadn't started out as a difficult conversation; how did it so often come to this? "You can talk about this kind of stuff."

"Okay," she answered tentatively.

"We haven't been together in a year and a half."

Both thought: _that long_? The years seemed to stretch across the ten miles that separated them; for a moment, she felt his loneliness and his ache. A sense of longing filled Jess's chest, but he confused it with his own.

"Do you want to come over tomorrow?" she asked, her tone quiet, thick with the past.

"Where? Yale?" The surprise was evident in his voice; she strained to hear whether it was certainty or hesitancy that accompanied it.

"Yeah."

"What happened to keeping me stashed away?"

She glared at her wall, imagining his cocky expression. "_You're _the one who said you didn't want people knowing you were back. I just happened to go along as to not give Dean an aneurysm." After a thought, she added, "It's not like Luke's going to be here."

Jess exhaled, deflating into a recumbent position. "Where's Dean tomorrow?" he asked, avoiding the other subject.

"He has work all day. It would be nice if you came. I can show you around."

"Sure," he said, envisioning her in his mind, balancing on that thin line. He didn't know what attracted her to it; a sense of revenge or leftover feelings. "I'll come for lunch tomorrow."

"See you then."

After they hung up, she switched off the lamp and slid further down her bed, hiding herself in the dark. An ease came over her. It was nothing like certainty or perfection, but something else – like a small piece of hope blossoming despite the lack of light. She thought she loved Dean. She thought that no matter what she was trying to capture, that much was true. Still though, she thought it would be very nice to see Jess tomorrow.


	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

Rory woke up early the next morning feeling lighter than she had in a long while. It was as if the worries that had been weighing her down yesterday had disappeared over night. As she dressed, she felt calm and careless; unconcerned about her turbulent relationship with Dean and her workload that accompanied the upcoming school week. She wondered how long the feeling would last.

Paris greeted her as she emerged from her bedroom. "Doyle said that if you don't have that article in by tomorrow, he's going to fire you."

Wow. A record-breaking seven and a half minutes. A deep seeded urgency filled Rory as she struggled to remember if she had begun her second draft yet. Relief flooded through her as she recalled completing it before the last Friday night dinner.

"He can't fire me," Rory said. "It's voluntary to work on the paper. Anyone can join."

"He can take away your beat. He could stick you on sports."

Rory's eyes widened. "He wouldn't."

"He would."

"I know nothing about sports. I am the anti-sports girl. To this day, I still do not understand why all football players do is run back and forth across a field. How useful as a sports reporter would I be?"

"You wouldn't be," Paris said briskly, grabbing her coat off the rack. "It would be your punishment. Don't underestimate Doyle," she warned, scooping up a pile of library books. "To make up for his dwarflike height, he's three times as vicious as someone of normal size."

"I'll remember that," Rory mumbled as Paris disappeared into the hall. As soon as the door was shut, Rory jumped over to her computer and opened up her article. Pulling a folder of notes into her lap, she began to reread her draft to assess how much work it needed. It wasn't too bad, she decided. After a couple hours of work tonight or tomorrow morning, it would be presentable.

She sighed, rubbing her eyes. She wanted her writing to be more than presentable – she wanted it to be thought provoking and awe-inspiring; something worth reading. Lately though, she doubted her ability to provide any of the above, let alone all three. It always felt as if she didn't have enough time to write that one extra draft that would turn her acceptable article into an extraordinary piece of work. A part of her wondered if she was purposely sabotaging herself; not allowing the time to try harder. She couldn't fail if she didn't have the chance.

A knock at the door interrupted her mid-sentence, breaking apart her thought flow. She stared forlornly at the paragraph she had been typing, unable to remember what she had wanted to convey. What was her point again?

The door opened but she didn't notice, having temporarily forgotten the original knocking. She was too absorbed in staring at the computer screen as if the right words would suddenly appear. Jess walked over to her seat and tapped her on the shoulder. Her folder of notes hit the ground as she jumped in her chair.

"Am I interrupting?" he asked, watching her pick up the scattered pieces of paper.

She bounced back into an upright position, a look halfway between annoyance and surprise on her face. "Nope. You didn't interrupt." She shoved her folder between two textbooks leaning against the wall. "I was just finishing."

"You sure?" He had an amused glint in his eyes, put there by her strange antics.

"I'm sure." She did a quick save before closing her laptop. She swiveled in her seat so she could see him properly. "Find my room okay?"

Jess rubbed the back of his neck, showing a flicker of discomfort. "I've been here before."

"Oh yeah." She forced a smile, remembering his unexpected return only a few short months ago. The night had been awkward and painful, but it had gotten them where they are now, and that was what counted. "You ready to see the rest of Yale?"

"Let's get to it."

She jumped up, eager to show him around her school, the place where she lived, ate, and studied; her current home away from home. She wasn't sure why exactly, but she wanted him to be a part of it.

"What do you want to see first?" she asked. "The commons? We could go to Beinecke Library, or the Sterling Memorial Library. It's the largest one on campus."

"Whatever you want."

"I have to take you to the paper," she said, mostly to herself as she led him out the door. "Do you want to go to the art gallery? The British Art Center is right across the street."

"This is going to be a long day, huh?"

She shut the door, shooting him a grin. "I hope you wore comfortable shoes."

-

"I don't think I ever walked this much in New York. And I lived there for _seventeen_ _years_."

"Don't be such a baby," Rory chastised, leading him through the entrance of Sterling Memorial Library. "I do this everyday."

He stopped them before they could go any farther. "You circle the campus three times everyday?"

She had taken him past Beinecke Library, across Prospect Hill, and through the University Commons. She didn't know the meaning of a direct route, but instead dragged him places as they occurred to her. They had walked through the Old Campus at least three times before she decided to bring him into Sterling Memorial Library. It was well past three, by now. It looked as if their lunch date would be for dinner.

"Four," she corrected, grinning. "How do you think I keep my slim figure?"

"By not exercising and eating artery clogging food?"

"Funny," she replied, her face stony. "Now come on." She spun around and began to walk backwards, throwing her arms out in a grand gesture. "Welcome to the temple of learning and cathedral of knowledge."

"How many pamphlets about Yale have you read?" he asked, following her to the stairs.

"I'll never tell." She winked. "Now, we are currently walking in the second largest library in the United States," she explained brightly. "Completed in 1930 and named for John William Sterling, Sterling Memorial Library is fifteen floors worth of books. We're talking about 3.75 million volumes, Jess."

They emerged on the second floor, and she led him to the Starr Main Reference Room, talking his ear off about the non-circulating collection that was housed inside. Jess was amazed at the shelves of books they passed, the rows and rows of them. Were there really thirteen more floors of this?

A few minutes later, she ran out of things to say about the dictionaries and reference books, and brought him to the next floor. There were similar stacks of books, never-ending rows that spanned each side of the room. Rory led him down the center, past scattered individuals with books in their hands as they took notes. Most had cups of coffee in front of them to keep them going. All of them look stressed.

"Wow, I'm surrounded by knowledge. I'm overwhelmed," he deadpanned, leaning closer so Rory could hear him.

She shot him a disproving look. "You should be. Look at all this." She made another sweeping gesture, something he had seen several times today. It was beginning to grate on him – this place, her excitement. Her eyes lit up as she spoke; a childish smile never failed to appear as she showed him a familiar place. She had this connection here, this _plan_. When she walked around Yale, she saw her future.

He thought maybe he was envious. Not of college but of the idea; the path. She had something. What did he have?

Without warning, unless her startled "Oh god!" counted as one, Rory grabbed his wrist and tugged him into the stacks. She all but slammed him against the bookcase and froze in front of him, her hands resting on the shelves on either side of his body. Her eyes were fixed on where they had just been standing. Paris walked by, at least seven thick hardcovers balanced in her arms. Rory turned back toward Jess once Paris had disappeared.

She seemed rather oblivious to how close she was standing, but he was all too aware. He had an idle hand resting on her hip; a subtle move to left, and he could easily slip his fingers beneath her shirt.

"She's gone," Rory announced, stepping back. If she picked up on the awkwardness, she said nothing, but the blush on her face did not go unnoticed.

"I know Paris has that Mrs. Tingle thing going for her, but was that really necessary?" His voice sounded normal, but his fingertips burned with wonder.

Rory glared. "Yes, it was. She knows who you are."

"And I'm supposed to be the invisible man."

"She would ask too many questions," Rory rationalized. "She'd poke and prod, demanding to know why I allowed you around again."

Jess looked thoughtful for a moment as if considering to ask her why she did let him back in. But he knew better than to ruin a good thing.

"Then she would probably tell Dean for 'my own good'," Rory air quoted. "Dean would explode and the ramifications would be deadly."

"For me."

Rory nodded. She didn't want him to be a secret. He was the one who asked her not to say anything after he moved back. This was all his doing. "Plus, Luke would find out, although I still don't know why that would be such a bad thing."

Frustrated, Jess hit his head against the shelf behind him. "Luke and I ended on good terms. There is absolutely no need to screw that up."

"I love how you're convinced that you have this inability to maintain a healthy relationship with anyone. The world will not end if you talk to Luke." Rory stuck her head out of the stacks and looked both ways. The coast was clear.

"So what's next?" Jess asked, happy to see that Rory was switching gears.

"How about dinner?" She leaned in as if to tell him in confidence. "I don't think this campus is safe for you anymore."

She grabbed his wrist and pulled him out behind her. He stared down at her hand as they walked, wondering if they had finally crossed into some semblance of normalcy where touching didn't have to hurt.

"We should do this more often," she said as they descended the stairs. "Hang out, I mean. We usually only talk on the phone but today was…"

"Good," he filled in for her.

"Yeah," she agreed. "Good."

-

She knocked and waited. Kyle opened the door a moment later, dressed in a snazzy tux complete with an outdated bow tie.

"Hey, Rory."

"Hi, Kyle."

"I was just on my way out. I've got a seven o' clock and a nine. Wait 'til these two girls see me work my magic."

Rory smiled, swallowing a snicker. "You going to a dance?"

"Movies," he corrected, a 'duh' expression on his face.

"Oh. Of course."

"Dean's in his room. Have a good night." He winked before closing the door behind him.

Dean appeared a second later, having heard her voice. "Hey." His grin was wide. She smiled back, blushing. He was so happy to see her. "This is a surprise."

"Yeah, I just wanted to stop by and see you. Maybe watch a movie? This week is going to be so busy. I didn't know when I'd see you next."

"A movie sounds good." He held out his hand, and she took it, following him to his bedroom.

She felt a pang of guilt at her half truth, but she had no other choice. She couldn't explain that she had to see him again, just one more time before the long stretch of the week. Too much time apart cleared her head and allowed her to think reasonably. Without him, it was easy to spot the flaws, the holes in logic. Sometimes it was heartbreakingly clear how wrong they were for each other.

She kissed his cheek and snuggled against his chest as he flipped off the lamp, leaving the movie as the only source of light.


End file.
